


Love Blisters

by WeagleRock



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Falling In Love, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Illnesses, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeagleRock/pseuds/WeagleRock
Summary: When your love for someone or something changes, you get love fever. When you get love fever, you usually get a love rash: a nasty, persistent itch in the shape of flowers or birds or your lover's hands.Alex has always noticed that Nicky doesn't get love blisters, just like he's noticed how Nicky fumes after losses, and prefers lasagna to ziti, and likes his girlfriends to cut his hair.He just assumed Nicky was one of those lucky people, the ones who don't get the rash.





	Love Blisters

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Thorne for the beta!

Nicky was in a foul mood. Scratch that. Nicky was five seconds from stabbing someone with a skate blade.

You'd have to know him to tell. Most people would watch Nicky skating drills like normal and see focus, concentration, near-impenetrable Swedish cool. But Alex had been playing with Nicky for almost a decade. He knew the flat look in his eyes spelled big trouble.

Another, wiser man might've waited for Nicky to pull himself out of his own thought spiral. Alex skated to Nicky's side and bumped his shoulder. “Whatever's get into you, save it for game.”

“Whatever's into me.” Nicky repeated Alex's words like he'd said something stupid, even though they both knew he hadn't. He scratched one arm with his glove.

“Better yet, go home, take nap, and get up on right side of bed next time. No fun for me if I watch whole game from bench because you put us on penalty kill for three periods.”

“That sounds like me. Never any discipline.”

“Yeah, yeah. You all goon.” Alex threw an arm over Nicky's shoulders and squeezed him through two sets of pads.

Nicky did deflate a little. He still looked like he wanted to stab someone, but maybe not in a major artery. “Don't worry. I'll be fine by puck-drop. I just … wrong side of the bed, like you said.”

Alex squeezed him again. “You know I don't really worry you fuck up game.”

“Obviously.” But Nicky offered a small smile, so he wasn't that annoyed.

Nicky was a grown man, and Alex trusted him to handle his shit. He would've pushed the issue from mind if post-practice showers hadn't led to a flurry of chirps.

“Whoa, check out Papa's chest!”

“Taking Rocking the Red to the next level, eh?”

“Looks like someone's nostalgic for the Care Bear line.”

“She gotta sister?”

“Shut up. All of you.”

Nicky stalked back into the dressing room wearing a towel around his hips.

Alex's mouth went dry. Blisters shaped like tiny hearts raised the skin around Nicky's collarbone, crawled up one wrist, and splotched over the center of his chest, where the smaller hearts schooled to form a larger Valentine. The rash looked red and miserable, and so did Nicky.

“Love fever?” Alex asked, as hoots carried through the Caps' dressing room.

“More like hives from new fabric softener.” Nicky pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I'll talk to you later. I'm going to go find a trainer.”

#

“So, love fever?” Alex pushed a beer in Nicky's direction.

“Allergies, actually.”

They sat in a dark booth in a D.C. bar. The team had gone out to celebrate after Holts shut out the Devils. Most of the guys were at the bar, doing shots or chatting up women, whether they planned on taking that anywhere or not. Nicky, in contrast, had found the most isolated corner in the whole place in which to sit ramrod-straight and not touch anything.

It worried Alex, to be honest.

Love fever was never fun, but it usually meant something good—a new love. But sometimes … sometimes, it meant the fucking worst. And Alex had seen Nicky in love before. He smiled more and made dumb jokes. He teased Alex and rookies. He didn't act pissy all over the ice, then go to bars just to glower like some blond Swedish gargoyle.

Alex prodded Nicky with his knee. “You know, I get my first love fever for hockey. I get all cover in hockey pucks.”

“I know. It was in all your interviews for years.”

“Yeah, got more play than rash I have for first Mercedes I buy. Or that time I get one shaped like Russian eagles.” Alex laughed maybe a little too loud. “Good thing reporters never guess that for Caps signing Feds, or they never let it go.”

Nicky didn't smile. If anything, he looked even more tight-lipped and annoyed.

“Come on, Nicky. What's wrong?” Alex asked.

“Nothing. I'm fine.”

“Something happen? Family okay?”

“Jesus, Alex. My family's fine. I'm fine.” Nicky slid his thumbnail against the label on his Blue Moon, lifting its edge. “This … _fuck_. This hasn't happened to me before, okay? And there's no reason for it to happen now. I haven't met anyone. I haven't lost anyone. No feelings have changed for me.”

That sounded impossible. People didn't break out in hearts for no reason. But Alex was mostly hung up on the part about this not happening before.

“What not happen? Rash?”

“Love fever.”

“Ever?”

Nicky's back straightened even further, somehow. “Not getting sick doesn't mean I've never loved anyone.”

“Of course it not mean that, but—”

But that's when Nicky and Alex were interrupted by a flush-faced Whip and Burkie coming back from the bar. They slumped into the booth opposite Nicky and Alex, oblivious to any tension.

“Look at you, Backy,” Whip said. “Covered in hearts, and it's like you're not any different. Like, fuck, you're so chill. Not even love fever stops you. Whenever it happens to me, I want to tear off my fucking skin. Worst was in fucking Juniors. I just needed my girlfriend, you know?”

“Not really. I need another drink.” Nicky escaped out one side of the booth, leaving his near-untouched beer behind.

“Nothing fucking gets to Papa.” Whip raised his glass before taking a swig.

#

Alex got the word out before the Caps' next practice: Nicky's love fever was off-limits. Don't chirp him, don't offer condolences, don't put it on the fucking board. Don't even bring it up.

Of course Nicky made that hard on everybody by coming in looking like someone had burned tiny hearts all over his body. They covered his back and shoulders and traveled down his inner arms like a heart-cobbled road. You couldn't even make out the individual hearts on his chest anymore. The skin there was dark red and raised—a fucking ten-inch blister.

“Holy shit,” Schmidty said, before everyone glared at him.

Nicky, of course, only had glares for Alex.

“What the fuck did you say to them?” Nicky asked, as soon as he found an opportunity to corner Alex. “The whole team's treating me like … like a fucking leper.”

“You look like fucking leper. What the fuck, Nicky? You don't take anything to help?” Creams and ointments and Epsom salts couldn't fix the underlying fever, but they could soothe the rash. There were drugs, too, and Nicky was an NHL player—he could get the good stuff.

“I've taken things,” Nicky said. “None of it's working so far. What did you tell them?”

“Nothing about, you know, this being first for you. Just tell them to lay off.”

“I don't need that.”

“Now you just stubborn.” Alex laid a hand on Nicky's shoulder, and Nicky didn't wince, so he kept it there. “You know I have love fever before where there's no easy way to make better. A few times in my life.”

“I remember.” Nicky sounded more subdued now.

“Yeah. Because person is gone or chance for something is over. It just takes time for the rash to leave, but couple things can help skin. I can bring them over.”

Nicky looked torn. “The meds, they're not working.”

“Sometimes they don't. Just think about it and call me if you want.”

#

“Remember when Alzy met his wife? He got daisies all over.” Dima stuffed some sour cherry vareniki in his mouth. He'd gotten a craving, and his craving had turned into dinner at Mari Vanna for the Caps' Russians.

“That was before I came to D.C.,” Zhenya said. “But I was here when Carly's whole back turned red after his son was born.”

“He slept on his stomach for weeks!” Dima laughed.

“What, he told you?”

“No, but what else could he do?”

Alex sighed and glanced at his phone for maybe the twentieth time since they'd started their appetizers. His brother had sent a picture of a funny sign near a bus stop in Moscow; his parents wanted to visit in March; and Tiësto was inviting him for drinks after an upcoming show in Baltimore. But Alex hadn't gotten shit from Nicky. No call, no text, no email. Nicky was too fucking stubborn for his own good sometimes.

Maybe that was Nicky's problem: being in denial made more sense than getting a love rash for no reason. Even with that, though, something about the whole situation didn't sit well with Alex.

For one thing, Nicky wasn't usually the denial type. For another, Nicky had said that he hadn't fallen in or out of love with anybody, hadn't lost anyone … but that went against everything Alex knew about love fever. Nicky's feelings must've changed. He'd fallen for someone or given up on someone. Something. It couldn't be the team, though. Even with their ups and downs, Alex knew how much Nicky believed in the Caps and their ability to win a Cup.

Silver flashed in the corner of Alex's eye. He looked up and saw Dima gesturing toward Zhenya with his table knife. “There was that time you got tulips.”

“That was over baked potatoes.”

“It was the same week as your wedding anniversary.”

“No, no. You must be confused. My fever was for baked potatoes with sour cream.”

“And maybe Bäcky just fell deeper for pickled herring.” Dima rolled his eyes. “I've never even seen him with a rash before. That means he gets them for serious stuff. Not like Sasha.”

“Why are you bringing me into this?” Alex slipped his phone into his coat.

“Because you get love fever more than anybody.” Zhenya speared some cabbage with his fork. “And it's not always for serious love, like with me and baked potatoes.”

“All my loves are serious loves. I got my first fever for …”

“… _hockey._ ” Zhenya and Dima chimed together to finish Alex's sentence, like it was his fault no one had to talk to him to know the basic bullet points of his life.

“We know,” Dima said. “You also get fevers for your iTunes playlist. And for dogs.”

That first one was a gross exaggeration. The second … Alex placed a hand over his chest. “My dogs are my most serious love of all.”

Zhenya swallowed a forkful of stroganoff. “Maybe this girl doesn't love Nicky back. He's got the worst rash I've ever seen. That doesn't happen if you spend time with the person you get the rash for.”

“Maybe they had a spat,” Dima said. “If they're fighting, they wouldn't cuddle the rash away.”

And with that, Alex figured he'd let their speculation carry on long enough. “Nicky doesn't have a secret girlfriend. Even if he did, there's no point to this gossip. If he's in love with someone, we'll all find out soon enough. He's never kept anybody from the team.”

Zhenya and Dima exchanged a look like chastised children.

“Okay,” Zhenya said. “You've known him the longest.”

That wasn't the same as knowing Nicky best.

Alex reached for his phone again.

#

Alex really did get his first love fever over hockey. There were photos somewhere—a tiny kid with all his teeth, a hockey stick, and circular scabs the size of pucks.

Maybe it was good for him to get used to it early, Alex thought, as he looked through his love rash supplies: colloidal oatmeal, thick lotions, some prescriptions where he still had half the tube. Everyone spiked a love fever sometimes, but Alex caught it for big things, small things, good things, bad things—sometimes eight or nine times a year. And his fevers almost always caused a rash.

He got shit for it, but he gave shit right back. Love rashes were fun to chirp about, once you made sure they stemmed from something good. It wasn't so remarkable when guys showed up looking normal all the time, but Alex had noticed that Nicky never got love rashes. Of course he'd noticed.

It was his job to know Nicky better than anyone, and not just because Alex wore the C. Their chemistry would've stuttered and died if they hadn't learned to read each other back when they were young. Alex, in love with his life and determined not to waste one moment. Nicky, the smartest guy in every room, who'd somehow been surprised when Alex remembered his name that first Worlds after his draft. Like Alex could forget the player meant to be his franchise center. Like Alex hadn't been watching tape.

So, yeah, Alex had noticed that Nicky never showed up with blisters shaped like flowers or birds, just like he'd noticed how Nicky fumed after losses, and liked lasagna better than ziti, and got his girlfriends to cut his hair. Alex had noticed all that. He'd just assumed Nicky was one of those lucky guys, the ones who didn't get the rash.

Alex's cell rang. He snatched it up. “Nicky?”

“Uh, hi. Can you come over? You, you don't have to. I can still skate tomorrow.”

“There in an hour.”

#

Nicky looked awful.

He'd stripped down to his boxers, either because no one had told him to wear loose clothing or because he'd ignored that advice. His neck and shoulders were more rash than skin. Hearts splotched his thighs. The giant heart on his chest looked raw. Liquid pooled at its bottom edge.

“You scratch?” Alex asked.

“No. But fabric irritates everything. Got this just from carrying equipment.” Nicky waved his hand over some popped hearts above his hip.

“Fuck. If this gets any worse, you need hospital.”

Nicky looked down at himself. “It can get that bad? The doctors just said it's worse if you get it for the first time late in life. They said it's easier when you're a child.”

Alex had experienced the worst love fever of his life at age ten. “Doctors not know everything.” He held up one of the plastic bags he'd brought. “Here, I come with peas.”

Nicky raised his eyebrows. “That's your healing wisdom? Frozen peas?”

“Didn't promise wisdom. Just help.”

Nicky's fingers twitched like they wanted to scratch something. “I need that, too, I guess. I did call you.”

“I know. I'm expert. Like love doctor.”

“That's not …”

Alex knew full well what it meant. He tried his best to look innocent.

Nicky took in Alex's expression, sighed, and held out his hand. “Just give me the peas.”

#

Alex sat on Nicky's couch, a beer in hand. He had a football game on, but he wasn't paying much attention. He'd sent Nicky upstairs with an oatmeal bath and anti-itch lotion, to be applied to damp skin as soon as Nicky finished soaking. He didn't expect anything he'd brought to help that much—not the oatmeal, not the lotion, not the peas. Even when you could go to who or what you loved, there wasn't any cure for love fever but time.

Company could help, though. Company and cold compresses.

Alex listened for Nicky, crossed and uncrossed his ankles, racked his brains. If this love fever had happened two off-seasons ago, Alex might've pointed to Greenie leaving in free agency: for all the jokes about Alex and Nicky acting like old-marrieds, they'd never been best friends. But Greenie had already played a whole season in Detroit without Nicky getting a love rash. And Nicky didn't seem lonely. He had Jojo and Burkie, for Swedes, and he was tight with Carly and Osh. And that was just with fellow Caps.

Nicky had people outside of the team. There was Andreas, the trainer who helped after his hip surgery, and that guy who kept getting him Geico commercials. Who else? Alex thought Nicky might've mentioned a photographer one time, and he had friends in Gävle for sure, but his and Nicky's non-hockey circles didn't share much overlap.

How long had Nicky been bathing?

Alex muted the television, but Nicky's house was large and well-built. Alex wasn't going to hear splashing from the master bath. He waited another few seconds, then grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and went to find Nicky.

“I come in?” Alex knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Alex opened the door and walked into the bathroom. He found a flush-faced Nicky sitting in clouded water. Damp hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and it was hard to tell if it was sweat or bathwater making it wet. “Bäcky! How hot you make that?”

“Not very.” Nicky grimaced.

Alex eyed the water, as if he could determine its temperature just from looking. The bathroom air didn't feel too humid, so maybe the heat in Nicky's cheeks was all fever. The thought wasn't comforting. Alex hadn't been kidding about the hospital.

He brandished the water bottle. “Need to stay hydrated.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Nicky accepted the bottle, twisted off the cap, and drank.

“When you get out, only pat with towel. Don't want to be all dried off when you put on lotion.”

“I think I can handle it.” Nicky wiped his mouth with a heart-free patch of wrist.

“Says guy who gonna pop two thousand blisters the next time he fights for the puck near the boards.” Alex blinked at Nicky's legs—long, not too hairy, red hearts still visible through thirty-five centimeters of soothing oatmeal water. “Hey, you, uh, you talk to Greenie lately?”

“Uh.” Nicky stared at Alex a few seconds. “Wait, you think this is all over Greenie?”

“Is that no?”

“Yeah, it's a fucking no.” Nicky rose from the bathwater, looking pissed. He grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around his waist, like Alex hadn't seen it all that morning and wouldn't see it all again tomorrow. “I told you. No feelings from me have fucking changed.”

“So why this happen?”

“I don't know.”

“There have to be some reason.”

“The fuck there does.” Nicky grabbed a second towel and wiped his face. “I've never had this before, and that had no reason. Why would this?” He looked like he was squaring for a fight.

It was strange, of course, for Nicky to have never gone through love fever at his age. But Alex had been playing with him for ten seasons. He'd seen Nicky win and lose, struggle with injuries, fall in and out of love, worry over his game, his team, his family.

“I get lots of love fever in my life,” Alex said. “Good fever, bad fever. I get it for most big things, but not all of them. Whole Sochi disaster, and then my dad get sick right after, and there never any fever for me. It doesn't mean I feel less than other times.”

Nicky's face went through a few, strange expressions that didn't add up to anything Alex could identify. He decided to give him a break and not, you know, joke that at least Nicky didn't have heart-covered balls. “Pat with towel. Don't rub. Then lotion.”

Nicky shook his head. “You are the love doctor,” he said, his voice dry enough to parch the Baltic sea.

#

Alex was back on the couch when Nicky came downstairs. He'd swapped his towel for a long-sleeved Caps T-shirt and plaid drawstring pants: light, breathable clothing that wouldn't rub his blisters.

Nicky sat next to Alex, looking more relaxed than he had in a while. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Not a big deal.”

“Maybe not, but I've been a dick, and you don't deserve that.”

It wasn't an apology, exactly, but Alex knew what Nicky meant. For his part, Alex shrugged and sipped his beer. They'd played together a long time. They knew better than to make excuses for each other. They knew better than to cling to slights, too. “Shouldn't have pushed you for answer, either. You say there no reason you know, I believe you.”

Nicky fiddled with his sleeves. “Is this what it's like every time for you? Love rash?”

“Nah. Most of the time, you go hang out with person who give you rash, if that's okay with them. If not, you stay in, go out, look gross, deal with it. Then again, when it's that kind of love fever, it's not really rash that sucks most.” Alex eyed Nicky's chest. “When that gets itchy, use ice.”

“Okay.” Nicky flexed his fingers against his thighs. “I've never had, uh, anyone go through this for me, either. I saw it with my brother once, before I came to the U.S. No one in my family gets this much.”

“Not all my girlfriends have, either. Not even all serious ones. I'm one who gets it easy. That's not everybody.”

“Some of my exes didn't like it, when they learn I never had this.”

Was that what Nicky's defensiveness in the bar had been about? “That's stupid,” Alex said. “Besides, now you get to say you went through worst ever. Show scars.”

Nicky wrinkled his nose. “They'll be badass scars, too. With such a good story behind them.”

“Of course good story. Story of how amazing goalscorer Alexander Ovechkin come to your house and make you take oatmeal bath.”

“Then I can tell them what it's like playing with you. Always my favorite question on dates.” Nicky's eyes sparkled, which meant that he was joking—and enjoying his own joke. He motioned to the football game still playing on the TV. “You watching this?”

“Not really.” Alex didn't feel like going home just yet, and it seemed like Nicky still wanted company. “Could play FIFA?”

“That works.” Nicky grabbed the Xbox controllers. He handed one to Alex.

“Not gonna go easy on you just 'cause you look like shit,” Alex said. “That's my plan this whole time. First I bring frozen peas. Then I kick your ass.”

“More like you knew you'd need them after I'm done with you.” Nicky planted an elbow in Alex's side, but he did so with a smile. Alex could count it as progress.

#

“Looks like Nicky worked it out with whoever gave him his fever.” Zhenya nudged Alex and spoke in Russian.

“Nah,” Alex said. “Just got better medicine. And don't talk about it here. He understands some Russian.”

“He knows maybe two words.” Dima ignored almost everything Alex had just said. Typical. “And he looks way better. You ever see that happen just with medicine?”

Alex looked across the weight room to where Nicky was doing squats. He did look better. Not great, not even good, but better. The hearts on his neck and arms seemed smaller, drier. Of course, Nicky's chest was covered by UnderArmour, so Alex couldn't see the biggest blister. “You should drop this.”

“Okay,” Zhenya said, “but don't act like we didn't tell you when we get wedding invitations. You don't get a rash like that for just anybody.”

Dima giggled.

“What?” Alex asked him.

“Just, those hearts. They look so bad. I bet they're the kind of rash someone would get over you.”

“Uh.”

Dima waved one hand. “Not Nicky, obviously. He's smarter than that. But I could see a fan falling so in love with your loud hockey, they get to look like a card store exploded, only it's disgusting.”

“Everybody in love with my hockey.”

“Except Grapes,” Zhenya said.

“And Milbury,” Dima added.

“Can you imagine Milbury with a love rash?” Zhenya grinned. “He's so in love with himself, he'd probably break out in shoes.”

Their conversation replayed in Alex's mind later, as he showered after practice. Not the part about Milbury with love blisters. The part where Nicky's rash looked better—so much better that Dima and Zhenya thought he'd found its cause. That he looked better after Alex brought him ice and played a couple hours on his Xbox.

Alex had wanted to make Nicky feel better. Not in the traditional way. In the way that helped when someone broke up with you or your German shepherd puppy didn't want to snuggle all day. It couldn't mean too much that his plan had worked. Besides, Nicky himself had sworn up and down that he didn't know why he had a rash, and Alex had promised to believe him. Alex _did_ believe him. Nicky wasn't a great liar, not if you mostly knew him.

Alex rinsed, turned off the water, grabbed a towel—and saw Nicky. He'd already gotten out of the shower, already wrapped a towel around his waist and draped another across his shoulders. He was leaning down to adjust his shower sandals, his back toward Alex. Scabbing hearts puckered down his spine.

Nicky must have caught Alex in his peripheral vision, somehow. He straightened and turned—

Alex pressed a towel to his face. But that was idiotic, so he wiped water from his eyes, shot Nicky a small smile, and toweled off like normal. He felt Nicky's gaze prickle on his skin, and he felt it slide away. When he looked up again, he got an eyeful of Schmidty flicking water at Holts.

Okay, so Nicky looked better, and he looked better after spending time with Alex. But Alex wasn't gonna jump to conclusions. Because, well. It didn't bother him to think Nicky might spike a fever over him, but it also seemed fucking unlikely.

They'd shared a team since 2007. If Nicky had fallen for Alex's loud hockey, he'd sure taken his sweet time.

#

“What was that about earlier with Kuzy and Orly? In the weight room?” Nicky asked as he and Alex loaded up their plates at the team's lunch buffet.

“Russian joke.” Alex took an extra helping of salmon and a light one of braised chard. “You know Gretzky, he greatest of all time, and he just eat hot dogs.”

“Not in front of the children. Or Orpy.” Nicky frowned at the placard announcing brown rice. He'd swapped his towels for a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, so Alex couldn't see his hearts. Nicky could be stubborn sometimes, but at least he always learned.

Alex brushed his shoulder against Nicky's, just because he could. Nicky glanced at Alex. A considering look. Alex waited for … he didn't know what. Nicky to ask him over again, maybe. That would make sense, if he'd noticed Alex helping his blisters.

Nicky hummed under his breath, which meant nothing. Then he added a scoop of rice to his fish and carried his plate to his usual table, which meant he didn't have anything else to say to Alex.

Dima and Zhenya didn't know what they were talking about, Alex decided, as he watched Nicky sit down and flick Burkie's ear. Then again, what else was new?

#

Nicky kept healing. The hearts on his wrists and feet receded. The ones sprayed across his arms and thighs gave way to healthy skin. The bandages on his chest remained in place, so Alex couldn't tell if the biggest heart looked better or not.

Alex kept an eye on him. That wasn't so strange. He'd kept an eye on Nicky when he was new to the team, and when he'd had his concussion, and also when he'd hurt his hip. But Alex couldn't remember Nicky watching him back so much. He felt Nicky's gaze on him when he took shots with Whip, when he juggled pucks with Osh, when he tapped Holts' pads. Maybe that was new. Maybe Alex just noticed more, now that he felt kinda unsettled. Not that he had a good reason for that. Or a good way to ask if Nicky felt the same.

“We on for steaks next road trip?” Alex asked Nicky, in a spare moment after practice. It was a tradition for them to get dinner on the road, at least when there wasn't anything planned for the whole team.

“Why wouldn't we be?” Nicky squinted at Alex.

“Dunno. Just making sure.”

“We've been doing the same thing nine years, almost.”

“We change plenty of shit since beginning.” Or shit changed on them, without them noticing, until they woke up one day and couldn't see their old starting point. “Seriously, just a question. Don't think it's bad idea to check in with each other sometimes. See if we wanna do something different.”

“No, it's not a bad idea.” But Nicky spoke slowly and with a frown. “Do, do you want something different? We could eat something else. Or skip the whole thing. If you want.”

“No, no! I want. Steaks good. Dinner with you good. Everything about that good, Nicky.”

“Then we're on the same page.” Nicky placed his palm on Alex's chest, which wasn't the weirdest thing for him to do, even without pads and sweaters. “Besides, steaks with me means you won't eat just chocolate.”

Alex wasn't that bad anymore, and he hadn't been for a long time. And Nicky liked pasta and cheese too much to count as a health nut, at least compared to two guys they knew both named Brooks. It was probably just something to say. Alex patted the fingers that lay between his pectorals. They were warm fingers. They had callouses. “Not everything's the same as when we're rookies.”

“I know. I've been here the whole time, believe it or not.” Nicky peered up at Alex like he couldn't quite read him. A second later, and he breathed a funny, fluttering breath.

“Allergies?” Alex asked.

“Uh. No. I'm fine.” Nicky slid his hand out from Alex's. He seemed … not annoyed, exactly, but also not _not_ annoyed. He seemed composed. Composure, with Nicky, could mean a lot of things.

Alex should've been able to figure him out, but the air felt charged. He did his best to shrug it off. “Hey, I'm glad we both okay with old plans, but hope you know we change anything that you not think working anymore. Or if you think something new works better.”

“I like steak. I've kinda always liked steak.”

“Just think I offer. In case you want raw carrot stack instead.”

Alex laughed when Nicky pulled a face.

#

A week passed. The Caps started a win streak against the Rangers, then lost to the Stars at home. Nicky's chest bandage remained in place. Alex asked him about it, privately, over the promised steak dinner in Ottawa. They'd gone to a nice place on the river with exposed beams and long views. Nicky shrugged and said ice packs couldn't stop infection.

“It's infected?”

Nicky gave him a strange look. “On my chest, a little. I'm on antibiotics.”

Alex was being weird, probably. Not that being weird was anything he worried about. “You know me. Always worry my center not be there, not pass for goals.”

“You should talk to Kuzy, then.”

“I'm not on his wing all the time.” Lines changed. So did everything. The team was still his and Nicky's, even if they often played with different people these days. “At least we'll always have the powerplay.”

“There's no _always_ in hockey.” Nicky's knife clinked against his plate. Had it slipped in his hand?

“No always in anything.” Alex searched Nicky's face, looking for some … something. He realized he was holding his breath, which annoyed him. “Anyway, rash get bad again, let me know.”

“I can get my own ice packs.”

“It's not really about that crap. It's …” Alex focused on pushing some potato around his plate. “You get kind where it's not happy, not easy. Ice, lotions help skin, yeah, but best thing is have people around. Even if they not who you want.”

Nicky sipped his water. “You make it sound so normal.”

Love fever was normal, but Alex wasn't sure he should say that to Nicky.

“I mean, you don't talk about it like it's anything special,” Nicky said. “It happens, or it doesn't. You treat the rash, and you do things to make yourself feel better. The same things you'd do if you were … if something happened with someone, and there wasn't a fever.”

“Same feelings whether you get sick or not.”

“I always thought you took love fever more, uh, serious, I guess. You just, you act happy when they happen. When one of the guys comes in with them. Or when it's yours. I mean, when they're for you.”

Alex couldn't have been more surprised if Nicky had announced … he didn't know what. Being from another planet. Quitting hockey to join the Royal Swedish Ballet. “Obviously, I'm happy when good things happen, or when somebody loves me. But love fever isn't … it's not soulmates or some shit. It isn't sign everything gonna work out or you find your destiny. Most times, it means somebody have a love start or stop or leave or change. That's all.”

“Most people,” Nicky said, “wouldn't finish that thought with _that's all_.”

Alex shook his head, not ready to be deterred. “Whoever think it's bad you not get fevers was stupid. It's miserable, yeah? You don't wish it on people. And for all they know, fever for someone else, or because something shitty happen to you, or because you about to break up with them and missing days before everything go wrong. No fever doesn't mean no feelings. Seeing the rash on someone else doesn't mean they have feelings you want. Again, you know someone love you when they love you. Not because they have temperature or break out all over in tiny doves.”

Nicky swallowed, maybe a little hard, maybe not. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, only to catch himself and quit. “I, uh … I never liked it when people acted like no fever, no rash was this huge problem for me. Like me not getting it meant I didn't care. But it was never anything I wanted, either.”

“It look disgusting and feel awful.”

“So do lots of injuries. It's more … I don't want people always knowing what I feel just by looking. Not before it comes from me.”

“Ah.” Alex didn't enjoy media speculation over his fevers. It had been hard, to be honest, when Maria left him and every Russian paper asked why he had a crosshatched blisters up and down his body. Or after Sochi, when they wanted to know why he didn't care enough to spend two weeks in bed with sores like Olympic gold. But it was what it was. “Well, now you know rash not always make everything so obvious.”

“I do, I guess.” Nicky hesitated. “Mine wasn't like yours, though.”

Alex shrugged. “I never get it without love changing in some way, but it probably go like any other time your body feel like shit.”

Nicky's mouth formed a wry smile, and Alex knew why. They both had plenty of experience with their bodies betraying them—Nicky more so than Alex. You didn't become an athlete without knowing your body would hurt somewhere the rest of your life. You didn't hit your thirties and not see the end coming.

“You okay?” Nicky asked. “You, uh, made a weird face.”

They still knew each other well, Alex thought, even if they didn't know the details of each other's lives. But that would change. Someday, they'd see each other once every couple years, and they'd have nothing in common but ancient history. Everything Alex knew about Nicky—how he saw the ice and led the room, how to get him out of his own head, how to make him laugh—would pass its expiration date. Nicky would look at Alex, and he wouldn't know him at all. Just some person he used to be.

It was gonna suck, to be honest.

“Alex?” Nicky asked.

“Oh. Uh.” Alex's pulse throbbed in his head, his neck, his wrists. “I just thinking … you gonna hit 500 assists soon. Like, next game or two.”

“If you say so. Honestly, it will be good to get it over with.”

An itch stirred beneath Alex's skin.

#

Love rash itched like a motherfucker, even before it blistered. It wasn't something you could slap some lotion on and forget. You could distract yourself, yeah, or use ice to numb the skin. But if who or what you loved wasn't there, you wanted to __scratch__. Giving in made the itch burn. Ignoring it meant shifting, twitching, finding ways to keep your hands busy as your body boiled.

This wasn't Alex's first rodeo, as Zhenya might say, and it was far from his first fever. That didn't mean he didn't feel like shit. He took a cool bath and examined himself afterward. The skin along his inner thighs looked mottled, but Alex couldn't see any shapes. He swallowed an approved anti-inflammatory and set his alarm so he wouldn't be late for morning skate.

Trotz put Alex on Nicky's line for the game, because lines changed, and so did everything, outside of Alex always being right. Two minutes into the first period, and Nicky caught a pass on his stick and drove through center ice. Alex saw the D going deep and hung back in case of a turnover. He got a perfect view as Nicky scooped the puck toward Osh, and Osh one-timed it behind Condon, and Nicky …

Nicky got his 500th career assist. The most in team history.

Alex whooped and raced toward Nicky and pulled him into a hug. He babbled congratulations, trying to cover everything. How he'd been there for all of Nicky's career and how lucky that felt. How happy he was for Nicky, to know Nicky, to see this happen. He put their helmets together, like he had hundreds of times, and batted Nicky's shoulder pads with his gloves. Nicky eyes met Alex's through the chaos, same as pretty much always. Nothing changed, and nothing changed, and nothing changed.

Until Nicky's lips parted, and his mouthguard dangled. Until he looked at Alex like he'd seen something new. Until he did all that, and Alex—

Alex itched to get closer. 

#

The team celebrated Nicky's milestone with champagne and shouting on a late-night flight back to D.C. By the time the team buses took them from the airport to the parking lot, Alex felt hot and sore under his clothes. He wanted to go home and crawl between cool sheets. He wanted to wrap his naked body in sandpaper and roll down a hill. He wanted his rash to lift overnight so he could figure out his shit without so much fucking __itching__.

Alex's blistered for Nicky. That much was obvious. But a rash couldn't spell out your feelings for anybody. And Alex hadn't fooled around with another man for years. He'd never even thought about starting something with a teammate … okay, he hadn't thought about it since Feds, where nothing was ever gonna happen. Which brought him to another point: he'd never had a teammate who seemed interested in starting anything with him. Even Sasha Semin had never been serious with his flirting.

Alex had known Nicky so _long_.

Nicky stopped Alex in the parking lot—a hand on his arm. “Hey, you okay?”

Alex blinked, caught up in the sudden relief that came with Nicky's touch. “Uh.”

The cold had turned Nicky's ears red where his touque didn't cover them. His nose and cheeks, too. He took back his hand, and Alex's itch returned, though not at the same intensity. Alex wanted to step closer. He didn't know if he should. If Nicky would welcome that. One look on the ice wasn't anything, wasn't nine years.

“I'm fine, Nicky,” Alex said. “Or gonna be, after I go home and sleep.”

Nicky didn't seem satisfied with that, but it was late, and it was cold, and their teammates were finding their cars and driving out of the parking lot. He wasn't going to keep Alex here forever. “Okay.” Nicky's last syllable clacked through his teeth as he shivered. Did he seem disappointed? Withdrawn?

Fuck it. Alex went for the hug. “Glad it's you I play with all this time.”

“No shit.” Nicky's breath brushed hot against Alex's neck. “It's not like Kessel would help you score goals.”

Alex laughed and squeezed Nicky tight before releasing him.

Nicky didn't move away. He tilted his head up. Streetlight caught the hair tucked behind his ears and made it gold. Was he looking at Alex's mouth? Could Alex … _could Nicky …_?

A second later, and Nicky sniffed and stepped back. He seemed frustrated, but more at himself than at Alex. “Sorry. I mean, for keeping you. Goodnight. I'll see you in a couple days.” He bobbed his head, turned, and headed toward his car. He walked fast, his movements stiff.

Alex wanted to pitch himself after him. But he couldn't just throw himself at Nicky after nine years and see what happened. He had to weigh shit. Consequences. He needed to.

He needed to _think_.

#

Alex didn't want to think. He wanted to stop _itching_.

He stripped off his clothes as soon as he arrived home. He went to his medicine cabinet and pulled out some lotion from a past fever. The first few blisters blushed pink near his armpits. They looked like small, round dots. Most people wouldn't look at them and guess love fever. They'd think … Alex wasn't sure what they'd think. Smallpox, maybe. Or bedbugs.

He got into the bed and stared at the ceiling. He tugged the blankets over his head, but he couldn't hide from the itch. He pressed one palm to his thigh, where the rash crawled beneath his skin. A mistake. Heat flared under hand. His fingers curled. His nails dug one hard, satisfying furrow—

_Fuck_. Alex yanked back his hand and gulped some air.

His mind circled to Nicky. Nicky, who'd looked so shy at the 2006 draft. Nicky, who'd followed Alex to Moscow during the lockout. Nicky, who'd seen Alex through a million joys and disappointments, who'd been with Alex longer than anyone, who'd maybe, possibly, stood in a dark parking lot at 2 a.m. and thought about kissing him.

There were things to consider, here. Team chemistry. How to keep things private. Russian laws and wanting to play in different countries before they retired. But Alex thought about Nicky's hand on his chest, Nicky easing under his own touch, the way his whole face went goofy when he joked. Had there been signs? Had Alex missed them? How high was his fever anyway?

He wiggled against the sheets, and his skin went white-hot, and Alex had sorta had enough. _Does Nicky want me back?_ wasn't a question he could answer for himself, and it was useless to try. He couldn't puzzle it out from nine years of memories. He couldn't work backwards from heart-shaped blisters and a single look. Okay, two looks. Maybe three.

The point was, Nicky's rash meant fuck-all as far as Alex's own feelings went. What mattered was that Alex loved Nicky, and loved playing with him, and didn't want any of it to end. That Alex was open to … possibilities. If Nicky was.

And, well, Alex had never been one to sit on his feelings for anybody.

Before Alex could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his cell phone and sent a text to Nicky. 'got rash becky!!!now u can't say u never give anybody love fever hahaha))))'

#

Alex woke up to his doorbell ringing and his phone vibrating on his bedside table. He blinked bleary eyes and swatted at the phone, only to realize it wasn't the alarm making it buzz. He held up the screen and saw Nicky's name and picture.

“Uh, hello?” Alex answered the call.

“What the fuck?” Nicky said. “Let me in.”

“You know you wake me up.” Alex got out of bed and padded out of his bedroom and down his stairs. He grit his teeth as a wave of not-quite-pain cascaded from nape to navel.

“You deserve it. The fuck was that text—?” Nicky's question broke off as Alex opened the front door.

They blinked at one another, each holding a phone to their ear.

“Hi, Nicky.” Alex ended the call.

Nicky shoved his own phone into his jacket pocket. “I remembered your gate code.”

“Obviously, since you go through gate. Wanna come in?”

“What do you think?” Nicky stepped through the door. His gaze darted around the foyer, which he'd seen maybe a million times before, without landing on Alex. He licked his lips. “I …” he started, stopped. “You …”

“Have love fever.”

“And it's because of me.”

Alex shook his head. “Because of me. My feelings.”

“ _For me_.”

“Well, yeah.”

Nicky looked at Alex like he'd lost his mind.

Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe it had been the worst idea of Alex's not-so-young life. But he wasn't gonna stand here and lie, even if this turned into another thing he and Nicky had to work through. “Fever, uh, it start yesterday. I sit at dinner and think how we don't know everything about each other anymore, how that only gonna get worse, how someday we'll be strangers—”

“We'll never be strangers,” Nicky said.

“—then itch begin.”

They stared at each other.

“So what changed?” Nicky ran a hand down his face. “Fever for you means a change. That's what you told me. I mean, you also said I can't … that it doesn't tell you everything. That someone getting it for you isn't what you want always. I can't guess about this.”

“You guess a little last night, I think. In parking lot.”

Now Nicky looked less flustered and more murderous. “Alex …”

But Alex grinned. Because Nicky had bolted to Alex's house first thing in the morning. And Nicky wasn't an asshole, or at least not that kind. He wouldn't show up on someone's doorstep and say _the fuck was that text_ just because another guy confessed feelings. He wouldn't stammer about love fever not being _what you want always_ if he didn't also _want_.

He stepped into Nicky's space, and Nicky didn't back down. Crawling tension lifted from Alex's skin. “You wanted to kiss me, yeah?”

Nicky's glare said he wanted to crosscheck someone's face. But when Alex raised a hand to his cheek, he released the funniest little breath.

“I think lately how someday we won't know each other so well, and how I never want that,” Alex said. “How I'd like you in more parts of my life, not less.”

“So I wasn't, I wasn't imagining things.”

“Not if you imagine I want you.”

Nicky closed his eyes, like he was deciding something.

Alex stroked his cheek, just once, with his thumb. “It's okay if you need to think or not want this. I have lotions and ice. I can get over it.”

“Don't.” Nicky turned his head and kissed Alex's palm.

It was a small gesture. It felt huge, though. It felt like the world cracking open, plates rearranging around an ancient core. Alex bowed his head, and Nicky moved to meet him, and there they were. Him and Nicky. Him and Nicky and everything new.

It sure beat frozen peas.

#

“Your rash looks like bug bites,” Nicky said.

They'd settled onto Alex's couch. Nicky had lost everything but his boxers. Alex had changed into loose clothes over a thick layer of ointment. He felt like shit, to be honest, but he was happy too. Even if he'd had to tell Nicky a sad little secret about love fever: pretty much no one wanted to fuck when they were running a low-grade fever and their skin was covered in sores. Alex knew from experience that it sucked to rub open a thousand blisters on the sheets.

“Not bites,” Alex said. “Is all my passion for you.”

“All your passion for me looks like bug bites.”

Alex slung an arm over Nicky's neck and nuzzled under his jaw. He smelled good and felt better, and Alex didn't need an itch to want to touch. But he did itch. Incessantly. “Maybe my body realize for you it's better to be sneaky. No number nineteens.”

“Oh god,” Nicky said, “don't even joke.”

“It happen, I say it's for sweet no-look pass. No one gonna argue.” Alex traced his fingers down the scab on Nicky's chest. Thick pink skin lingered at the bottom edge. Nicky would scar for sure, but at least he'd have a line and not a huge heart. “I never thought this something you want. You know, with me. With guy.”

“Really? I thought maybe with you. Uh. I mean, for guys in general.” Nicky whole body rose and fell with his next breath. “You know, Feds.”

Whoa. Alex thought he'd been more subtle than that.

“I don't think anyone else noticed.” Nicky played with some hair by Alex's ear. “I, um, I watched you a lot back then. I just thought … hockey. And you never seemed interested.”

“Were you?”

“Not seriously. There's no point being serious over things that won't happen. If I noticed you more than I should, that was my business.”

That sounded a lot like what Alex had told himself about Feds.

Nicky settled his hand on Alex's thigh. “It, uh, it feels better when I touch you? The rash, I mean?”

“Yeah. Itches less.”

“It wasn't like that for me. With my fever. I still don't know what it meant, if it meant anything.”

Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. That didn't feel important anymore.

“I don't need you get some disgusting rash for me.” Alex drew back and traced Nicky's shoulder, where a few half-hearts still lingered. “I think … seeing your rash, wondering why it happen, made me think about you. That's when I realize … you know. I'm pretty fucking into you. As long as you not gonna turn around and say you blister for Trotzy, we all good.”

“I dunno. I could really love his coaching.”

“Nicky …”

“You said. You said it means love changing. Maybe I just fell for his breakouts.”

“You're not allowed to go cuddle Trotzy or his breakouts. I'm keeping you too busy.” Alex resisted the urge to scratch his own ass. He sighed his relief when Nicky drew close. Closer. Love fever was fucking annoying, even when it meant good things.

Nicky kissed Alex's temple. “There is stuff to think about. With this. It could be hard. With the team, I mean. Balancing everything.”

“That's our jobs. We keep this separate.”

“It's not always that easy. It would be bad for us if anyone found out.”

“This only our business for now.” Alex didn't think Nicky was trying to talk him out of anything, so much as reminding them both. “Look, we got here, despite everything. I don't want to give up before we even give it real shot. I don't think you do either. Not after you practically break down my door over text.”

“It was a hell of a text.” Nicky pressed his mouth to Alex's jaw, maybe a little embarrassed.

“You hell of a guy.”

Nicky sighed. “You're going to be ridiculous about this, aren't you?”

“What, you think I let romance die just because we know each other so long? No way. We're gonna share milkshakes, watch sunsets. I'm gonna go to carnivals and win big teddy bears for you.”

“We're not doing any of those things.” But Nicky looked happy. He pressed a hand to Alex's shoulder and guided him down, like he wanted to stretch above him. The couch wasn't really big enough for that, but it wasn't like Alex was gonna refuse a Nicky blanket. Truth be told, he was starting to revise his opinion on love-fever sex. He'd want to wash off some ointment first, but Nicky could be gentle, probably. Alex had one or two places still free from the rash.

“I'll buy you roses.” Alex half-threatened. “Red ones. In bouquet shaped like heart.”

“I'll stop feeding you pucks.”

“No, you won't.”

Nicky laughed, joy cracking through. “No, I won't. I might make you take a bath in oatmeal, though.”

Alex groaned.

#

Nicky was in a good mood. Anyone at all could have seen it: the light in his eyes, the relaxed smile hiding at the corners of his mouth, the extra silk in his tape-to-tape passes. The way he hooked his chin over Burkie's shoulder and blew air in his ear. Alex didn't have to know how Nicky spent his morning to see that he glowed.

But he did know. Intimately.

Alex caught Nicky's eye and winked. Nicky looked like he wanted to throttle Alex, if not in a way Alex wouldn't enjoy. But Trotzy blew his whistle, and they were still hockey players, and this was still hockey practice. Nicky skated down the ice, hit iron, and then circled back to Alex.

“Don't get so distracted, Nicky.”

“You're distracted. Here.” Nicky tucked Alex's sweater where it had half-fallen out of his shorts.

Trotz blew his whistle again, and it was Alex's turn for the drill. He caught Schmidty's pass, flipped the puck over Holtby's blocker, and rejoined the line behind Dima and Zhenya.

“I swear my wife and I will never be as married as those two,” Dima told Zhenya in Russian. Alex didn't know for sure if he was talking about him and Nicky, but he could guess: the marriage jokes were almost as old as their hockey careers.

“My wife and I were nineteen,” Zhenya said. “I think we'll get there.”

Alex almost wanted to laugh. If the past nine months had taught Alex anything, it was that hockey marriage wasn't dating. He and Nicky had needed to learn each other in new ways, figure out how to redefine their relationship while staying secret from everybody. Sometimes it wasn't so easy to change after a decade. Sometimes Alex moved his fingers through Nicky's hair, and Nicky spread his hand over Alex's lower back, and Alex couldn't remember a time when he couldn't just turn his head and take Nicky's kiss. But that was life, wasn't it? Always a surprise.

That probably went double for life with Nicklas Bäckström. But Alex had been given that life, and then he'd chosen it for himself. Right now, he couldn't imagine choosing any other, wanting any other. Right now, Alex wanted to tell his mom about them, plan summer trips to Moscow and Gävle, convince Nicky he wouldn't mind sharing a medium-sized dog …

Nicky must've sensed his stare, because his gaze slid toward Alex. His cheeks were pink from skating. Wet hair curled around his ears. He wasn't what Alex used to envision for himself, when he bothered to envision anything. But that didn't matter. Not when Alex thought he might want him the whole rest of his life. 

' _What_?' Nicky mouthed. And Alex, well.

Alex started to itch.

###

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little story in which Ovi and Nicky get covered in disgusting sores and realize they dig each other. The love blisters concept was partially inspired by [_There's Something About Mary_](https://youtu.be/EmGWtg11Vws).
> 
> The "Supernatural Illnesses" tag probably overstates the case, but there wasn't a great pre-existing tag. The general idea was to play with love-signaling tropes in a gross way. 
> 
> This story was originally intended to be all of 2.5k, and it definitely suffered some expansion-related growing pains. To that end, Thorne really went above and beyond. Thanks again!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as weaglerock.


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